


If You Like Pina Colada

by Paclipas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beach Holidays, Bickering, Case Fic, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel is So Done with Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester in Denial, Dean Winchester is So Whipped, Deities, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Idiots in Love, Jealousy, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Shamelessly Stealing Each Other's Food, So Married, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, Volcanoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27790888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paclipas/pseuds/Paclipas
Summary: Sam, Dean, Cas, toes in the sand, couple of them little umbrella drinks. Matching Hawaiian shirts, obviously. Some hula girls.Oh yeah, and the age-old deity sacrificing corporate assholes to a volcano that they really should take care of at some point.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 192





	If You Like Pina Colada

**Author's Note:**

> Title is obviously from the Pina Colada Song that I may or may not have played on repeat as I was writing this.  
> This is just a little feel-good story to counteract all the pain and suffering of the finale. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a fluff piece, I did not go into deep research for anything, this doesn't even take place in any particular place beyond Generic Hawaiian Island TM or plays out in any specific time in the canon!verse. It's really just idiots in love, but make it tropical. 
> 
> Hope it's fun. x

For reasons that are as of yet still a mystery, the Goddess Pele has awoken from her ancient slumber all the way in Hawaii and started tossing people into a volcano. Maybe it’s because it’s a leap year, those have always been funky. Either way, there have been a couple of victims so far and it’s tragic, of course. Though not as tragic as being trapped several thousand feet in the air inside a metal death machine soaring over endless blue waves. At least as far as Dean is concerned. Barely twenty-four hours have passed since Sam tossed a stack of newspapers down onto the war room table and Cas had switched into research mode faster than the younger Winchester could say _Get this_. Now here they are, probably facing their imminent demise. Dean knows the statistics. Between all the possible monsters that could have been the end of him, this has to be the worst way to go. For sure.

Sam’s mumbled complaints are a welcome distraction for once. They bought the cheapest tickets the internet had to offer, and while that has still eaten an uncomfortably large hole into their emergency funds, the airline does not offer much by means of comfort. This is especially evident by the decided lack of leg room. While neither Cas nor Dean himself are short guys, they still fit into the uncomfortable seats without issue but Sam has to more or less origami fold his legs halfway to his chest in order to sit. To be fair, Cas did offer to take the window seat initially but that would have put Dean in the middle seat and Sam knew better than to add to the already unbearable claustrophobia on display. That’s how they ended up with Sam muttering complaints about lack of circulation in his legs while staring grumpily out the window because _seriously, guys, think of the_ _environmental_ _consequences of commercial air travel_. It would be highly entertaining if Dean wasn’t trying and failing to die with dignity. He holds an insufficiently tiny bottle of booze in one hand while the other is clasped around Cas’ arm in a death grip. Somewhere in his blind panic, Dean realizes that this must be the first time Cas is on a plane. He wouldn’t have guessed it by the guy’s calm expression. When he comments on it, he can’t quite keep the envy out of his voice. “Dude, how are you so freakin’ calm? I’ve seen you get more worked up over a drive-in car wash than being up in the air like this.”

Cas looks at him kind of funny before he replies. “I used to be a celestial being.”

“Right.” Dean flushes with embarrassment, eyes darting around to make sure none of the passengers around them overheard that tidbit of insanity. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright, Dean. After almost a year I don’t expect you to remember.” The bastard looks away to hide his smirk and Dean would love to let go of his stupid arm and retort with a cocky remark -but at that moment the seat belt sign comes on and the ground starts approaching and really, Dean can’t get his fingers to move. If the former angel minds then he wisely keeps quiet to spare Dean additional embarrassment.

Dean practically flees the small plane at the first chance he gets, almost forgetting to pull his shabby duffel bag from the overhead compartment in the process. He only stops to wait for his brother and Cas once his feet are safely on the tarmac and he is well out of reach of a freak turbine blast accident. Better safe than sorry. The two of them take their sweet time but once they do come into view, in the midst of some tourists, Dean realizes that they maybe aren’t quite dressed for the location. Sam and himself are at least one layer down, but the Hawaiian sun is already relentless in the way it heats up his well worn flannel shirt. It’s Cas he’s most concerned for. Since becoming human he’s definitely started to dress down, not lastly because of his acquired need to wash clothes. For cases, however, he still unpacks the old tax accountant suit to look the part. To his credit, he does have the trench coat folded over his arm by the time he catches up with Dean.

“What’s taken you ladies so long?” Dean asks teasingly.

“You try explaining to the flight attendants why your friend darts off the plane like he’s running from a drug bust,” Sam replies, clearly annoyed. “Couldn’t even pretend like we didn’t know you thanks to the way you’ve been clinging to your emotional support angel.”

“I wasn’t _clinging_ ,” Dean says defensively at the same time Cas dryly clarifies: “Not an angel.”

Sam just gives them both an incredulous eye-roll and walks past them. “I need a drink.”

Finally a part of this whole plan that Dean is on board with. “Now we’re talkin’.”

**. . .**

They rent a car so they don’t have to depend on cabs and Dean misses Baby what he knows is an unhealthy amount once he lays eyes on the Prius Sam pulls up in. He heaves a sigh as he lifts first his own bag into the trunk, then Cas’. The gesture comes automatically. Small things like this have been happening more and more frequently since the former angel has been grounded in humanity. Dean knows it doesn’t make him less capable by any means, but something in heir interactions has shifted now that it feels like they’re on equal ground. Dean doesn’t examine it too closely, actively avoids any and all interpretation of his own actions, but he can’t deny that he just kind of likes getting to do small favors like this. He also likes that Cas lets him, never saying a word when he holds a door open for him, or casually pays for dinner, or folds his laundry when he’s already doing his own anyway. And yeah he really cant think about all that because even his dense ass knows it sounds like they’re dating or something. His generosity ends however when Cas moves toward the Prius’ passenger side. Dean just lets out a sharp whistle to communicate _Hell no, you won’t_ , causing a pair of blue eyes to narrow at him in a glare but Cas moves away and climbs into the backseat nonetheless. Dean grins triumphantly as he gets in next to Sam who doesn’t appear to have noticed the whole exchange.

Even just the short drive to the small hotel they booked a room in is enough for the heat to absolutely soak the three of them in sweat even with all the windows rolled down. Could they have turned on the A/C? Yes. Did Sam decide to be a little bitch about it? Also yes. All his complaints get cast aside in favor of a delighted chuckle when he realizes that the dingy building they pulled up in front of has a clear line of sight to the ocean and it’s _awesome_. From here it looks much less intimidating than from up in the sky and he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it or anything but he’s always been a bit of a sucker for some nice seaside downtime. Not that he’s ever had much of a chance for it. In fact, he doesn’t even remember the last time he’s been anywhere near open water.

“I can smell the salt,” Cas states from next to him, voice a strange mix of confusion and wonder that Dean has learned to associate with all things that Cas knows logically make sense but that he never paid attention to in his angelic years. It makes him want to forget the case and instead drag the guy straight to the beach. He shakes the thought from his mind. If they work smartly they’ll end up with some downtime and then he’ll make sure Cas gets the full beach holiday experience, after all he didn’t risk his life on the way here _not_ to get any enjoyment out of it. Until then, they have to focus on the business at hand.

The receptionist is a teenager who could not care less about the heat, sitting with his face inches from a fan and his nose buried in a comic book. He barely acknowledges their arrival, just makes them sign a form without checking their IDs and hands them a room key with a tacky hula girl on the key chain. Dean low-key loves it but makes it his mission to never let Sam know. Judging by his brother’s smirk he needn’t bother. The room itself is small but tidy with one queen sized bed taking up the center, a small table with a reading lamp and a door leading to a bathroom. A pull-out couch is also made into a second bed and Dean knows the question isn't where his giant of a brother will be sleeping but much rather who will share the bed bed with him. He’s prepared to make the decision via rock, paper, scissors, but Cas already drops his belongings onto the thin mattress of the couch like the martyr he is. For the sake if his own back muscles, Dean is not going to argue.

They take some time to freshen up and lose the flannels for good. Sam even puts on a pair of shorts and a polo shirt and Dean swears he’s never looked more like the future lawyer he’s always wanted to be, in the worst way possible. Cas on the other hand refuses to do anything to his wardrobe besides rolling up the sleeves on the _other_ white dress shirt he’s changed into. Dean vows to get him the most ridiculous Hawaiian shirt he can find at the first opportunity. He himself feels almost naked in his plain black tee and a seldom worn pair of denim shorts but it will do for now.

They made plans to meet Sam’s contact at a small beach bar within walking distance from the hotel and Dean for one is almost buzzing with excitement when they finally step onto the hot sand. He’s barefoot, carrying his boots by their laces and grinning from ear to ear. The bar is only a hundred yards or so further along the beach, its neon sign proudly labeling it the Hula Hut. It’s nothing more than a glorified shack with maybe five stools at the counter and a couple of plastic tables surrounding it but it’s charming nonetheless. It’s not a terribly busy area either so the few seats are likely all that’s needed. A few tables are occupied and Sam steers right up to the one closest to them where a woman he estimates to be a few years Sam’s junior waves at them. She is gorgeous, Dean notices appreciatively. Her skin is a deep caramel color, smooth and sun-kissed, but mostly hidden by a modest maxi dress that flows down to her ankles. She has her dark hair in a long braid that hangs way past her shoulders and when they sit down to join her she takes off her sunglasses to reveal a pair of chocolate colored eyes Dean could easily get lost in if given the opportunity.

“It’s an honor to welcome the Winchesters on Hawaiian soil,” she greets them, smiling openly. “I’m Kalanie.”

He flashes what he knows is a charming smile. “My brother neglected to tell us that his Hawaiian pen-pal is a true sight for sore eyes after a long day of traveling.”

To his surprise the woman throws back her head and laughs heartily. “Oh wow, you win that one, Sam.”

At Sam’s unapologetic grin Dean feels his own smile falter. “I made a bet on how long it would take you to hit on her,” Sam explains matter-of-factly. “I gave you less than five minutes, Kalanie wouldn’t believe me. Now her misplaced trust in your decency has cost her a round of drinks.”

“Oh come on,” Dean whines, not missing the way Cas clearly suppresses a smile at the whole exchange. He refuses to acknowledge the way he’s blushing profusely and just pulls out a chair for himself, ready to sit down and sulk.

“Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Kalanie tries to cheer him up. “Who knows. It might have worked out for you if someone hadn’t beaten you to it by a couple of years.” She slightly raises her left hand to show off the wedding band on her finger, adding further to Dean’s embarrassment but also making him aware that her arm is actually in a cast.

“That a hunting injury?” he asks, welcoming the distraction from any further jokes at his expense.

“I wish. That would be a much better story.” Kalanie looks down at the cast as if it’s a leech. “It’s from a rock climbing accident.” And yeah, Dean suddenly doubts he would have ever had a chance with her because as much as he likes to tell himself otherwise, he couldn’t keep up with that level of casual coolness. However, now that all romantic options are off the table they almost immediately fall into friendly conversation. Kalanie does end up buying them all a round of drinks and while he and Sam opt for some beers, Cas ends up so intrigued by the Pina Colada he sees at a neighboring table that he can’t resist ordering one for himself. A fact that seems to delight Kalanie to no end because it gives her an excuse to go for something fancy as well. When their drinks arrive Cas’ eyes light up like a work of art is placed in front of him. Admittedly, it’s a nice looking drink. Solid creamy color with a pineapple slice stuck on the rim of the glass and enough of a punch that Dean catches a whiff of rum from where he’s sitting. It even comes with one of those cutesy umbrellas and he wouldn’t admit it if his life depended on it but he’d happily keep those drinks coming just to keep that stupid smile on Cas’ face.

They order some finger food so the alcohol isn’t met by completely empty stomachs and eat while Kalanie fills them in on what’s been happening on the island. She starts off by showing them an aerial image of a big open space that apparently used to be part of a conservation reserve but was recently approved to be turned into a commercial area. He halfway expects Sam to gasp dramatically. Instead they all stare at the second image Kalanie shows them, which was supposedly taken a week after the first one. The area is unrecognizable. In the place of the big open space there’s now an entire fucking volcano. It’s almost cartoonish with red hot lava seeming to spew out of it if the image is anything to go by. Truth is, Dean knows fuck-all about volcanoes, or about Hawaii for that matter. As far as he’s aware that’s how it happens; one morning you wake up and _boom_ , there’s a new volcano on your island. When he says as much, Kalanie promptly educates him that while an eruption can create a new volcano, it doesn’t do that over night and without any prior seismic events to warn of it happening. She explains it as if Dean is a pre-schooler and it makes Sam snort and invites Cas to squeeze his shoulder in a way that conveys he is willing to tolerate his ignorance even though his disappointment is immeasurable. Dean just rolls his eyes and reaches over to steal a sip or two from Cas’ drink like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

**. . .**

It's after nightfall when they head over to the freak volcano site, only barely convincing Kalanie not to tag along. No one doubts that she can take care of herself, after all she’s the unofficial leader of the Hawaiian hunting network, but even she had to admit that going on a hunt one limb short is just a tragedy waiting to happen, especially when going up against a deity. It’s still warm despite the darkness, in that clammy tropical way that makes Dean yearn for the dry summer heat back home. He’s not made for this climate. Actually he’d go as far as to insist that no one really is and everyone who disagrees is a liar. His shirt uncomfortably sticks to his back and he keeps having to wipe sweat from his brow to stop it from dripping in his eyes. He ignores his discomfort in favor of professionalism as they stake out the area to make sure they’re alone. The coast seems clear so the three of them make their way to the foot of the volcano. It’s a bit smaller than what it looked like in the picture, maybe reaching up fifty or so feet, but that doesn’t make it any less intimidating. In fact, the orange glow at the very top that’s just the barest hint of the molten rock bubbling on the inside sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. Cas on the other hand looks positively thrilled at the sight.

“I have not been this close to one since Michael threw his tantrum at Pompeii,” he states quietly and even though Dean _knows_ who he is dealing with, it just throws him for a loop to be so casually reminded of the fact that Cas, human as he might be now, is an age-old being. Cas who finally wears jeans and t-shirts, who inexplicably loves watching _The Real Housewives_ and has an arrangement of succulents in his room because he _enjoys caring for something alive_ but knows a cat is too much of a commitment in their lives right now. Cas who rage quits when he loses at Connect 4, and sometimes pretends like he’s done with his food so Dean gets some extra fries, and who at the end of the day wants tiny umbrellas in his cocktail. _That_ Cas. It just makes Dean feel incredibly humbled to even be standing next to the dude right now.

Before he ever gets to voice any of this profound appreciation, Sam calls them over to where he is standing, looking at a patch of ash on the ground. “Looks like we’re too late,” he says stoically while using a stick to stab at the scorched remnants of a tie.

“Damn it,” Dean curses, though he knows that whatever went down happened way before they even arrived. This marks victim number four in as many days. All ideas of downtime and cocktails are cast aside as the gravity of the situation hits. They all get their asses in gear, realizing that they need to up their game, make sure no one else gets hurt. Sam already makes a 911 call for ‘back-up’, giving a fake FBI badge number.

It takes maybe twenty minutes for a couple of police cars to pull up in front of them and for once Dean is glad hat Cas is still wearing slacks and a dress shirt as it means at least one of them looks like what could pass for a federal agent. Of course the body is disintegrated beyond recognition, but one of the officers actually finds that some corporate guy involved in the project planning in the area was reported missing earlier in the day. It fits the MO of the other disappearances, and Sam manages to sweet-talk one of the female officers into giving him access to their missing persons files. Poor girl doesn’t stand a chance against his puppy dog eyes, and he immediately forwards everything they’ve learned to Kalanie as soon as they’re back in the hotel room.

They’re all tired and the four hour time difference to back home somehow feels worse on top of everything that’s been happening in the last few hours. Where usually there would be arguments about who gets to shower first, Dean just motions for Sam to go while he drops down on his designated side of the mattress before he inevitably has to surrender most of the space to his giant of a brother later on. After almost immediately dozing off, it feels like he was just asleep for barely a moment when he’s called back into consciousness by a hand softly stroking his cheek. At any other point in his life he would surely have jumped out of his skin, grabbing for the closest weapon at such a blatant intrusion of his personal space when he is at his most vulnerable but his body somehow knows it’s just Cas. He placatingly complains, swatting the hand away, and automatically looks around to check if the little display was witnessed by anyone but his brother is already out cold, curled at the very edge of his side of the mattress. If Cas is offended by the dismissive gesture he doesn’t let it show. To his credit he never does anything this awkward when Sam is around to see, usually waking him up by shaking him or throwing something at his head like a _normal_ person. Only sometimes it’s almost like the guy can’t help himself, taking any excuse for a tender touch when the opportunity presents itself. And Dean has to admit it’s kind of nice. They don’t get a lot of pleasant physical touches in their lives, especially not if one were to weigh the few they do get against the countless punches, bites, scratches and whatever else the respective flavor of monster they are chasing at the time has in store. Cas just whispers his usual _Goodnight, Dean_ and climbs under the covers of the creaking pull-out couch. When Dean comes out of the bathroom only minutes later, he finds him already fast asleep. If anyone asks, Dean will blame what he does next on jet lag. Instead of going straight back to bed he makes a beeline for the couch and carefully runs his fingers through Cas’ messy hair in the ghost of a touch as he murmurs “Night, Cas.”

**. . .**

The next morning has them all back at the Hula Hut, this time not for drinks, or at least not the fun variety, but to compare cliff notes. Kalanie more or less confirms that thanks to Sam’s shameless flirting she was able to definitively connect all missing persons to the construction project, as well as to show that the disappearances (read: murders) happened since the volcano showed up. She also tells them that despite the latest crisp body that was barely just taken care of and the freaking fire spewing mountain that is possibly kind of in the way, there is a big groundbreaking ceremony planned for the evening. They might not know all the details yet but they are all in agreement that if Pele got pissed at the little gentrification project that’s happening here, she will in no way allow for that event to go over smoothly. They don’t get very far with planning anything in particular, and Kalanie soon excuses herself for an appointment, leaving the three of them with basically a whole day to spare at the beach. For brain storming of course. It just so happens that the Hula Hut rents out beach chairs and serves virgin versions of their most popular drinks, and really it would be a waste not to make use of those nice services and boost the local economy. He kind of expects Sam to turn down the suggestion when he voices as much but to his surprise his brother seems to have developed a faint sense of fun in his old age.

This is how they find themselves in three matching chairs, legs stretched out in front of them. The sand is hot enough to almost burn his skin but he is not complaining. A fresh ocean breeze and the rhythmic push and pull of the waves as they hit the shore beat research in their windowless bunker any time. And yeah maybe he’s not as engrossed in what he’s supposed to be doing, namely looking up more information on some lore that could be connected to the island on his phone or finding a local to talk to and interrogate a bit. Instead he finds himself people watching, though _people_ just so happens to mean _Cas_. Earlier this morning Dean tossed a pair of his own denim shorts on Cas’ bed, insisting that he was just trying to keep him from collapsing in the heat. It had been an innocent gesture, despite what Sam’s raised eyebrows implied, but now he may have to admit that he made a grave mistake. Cas sits in his beach chair with his light blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves and the front completely unbuttoned so he can generously apply sunscreen to himself and on top of that he’s wearing _Dean’s_ _pants_. In short, Dean is grateful that the sunglasses he’s wearing hide the way his eyes linger on Cas. If he didn’t know better he’d be inclined to think the guy is purposely putting on a show but he isn’t getting anywhere close to that particular can of worms today. After all there’s still some dignity left in him, though the situation does frustrate him enough to somewhat sour his mood.

In a pleasant turn of events the Hula Hut is quickly becoming his favorite tacky beach joint of all time, though it admittedly doesn’t have much competition. The girl working there sets out a plate with donuts together with the lunch menu, unintentionally offering a great excuse to get some space from the former angel glistening with a fresh layer of sunscreen. He eagerly shoves a donut in his mouth and fills two paper cups with hipster water that has all sorts of fruit floating in it before heading over to where Sam and Cas are now casually chatting as they observe the crowd of people gathering on the beach. When he joins them, Cas gratefully accepts the beverage he is offered while Sam sends him an incredulous look as it becomes clear Dean is keeping the second cup for himself.

“Really, Dean?”

With his now free hand, Dean takes what remains of the donut out of his mouth, speaking as he chews. “I only have two hands, Sam.”

Sam looks like he wants to say something but cuts himself off when he curiously watches Cas wordlessly take the half-eaten pastry from Dean, who gives it up without protest. His brother goes through what feels like seven different facial expressions before settling on a smirk. “You know what, I’m not even surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Sam’s smirk turns into a shit-eating grin, “you’re fucking whipped.”

Dean almost chokes on his water. Whatever he might have thought Sam was going to say, this wasn’t on the list. He looks back at Cas, expecting him to be at least equally shocked but the guy has an unreadable expression on his face, almost like he is careful not to show any reaction at all. Dean doesn’t have the nerve to deal with any of this right now and does the only reasonable thing he knows- he makes a face at his brother and stalks off to stand literally anywhere else.

Anger ties his stomach into knots as he walks along the beach, further and further away from his brother who probably thinks he’s hilarious and Cas who didn’t really do anything wrong but still feels like a traitor for some reason. He could have at least had the decency to look offended. Instead his silence just piles onto that weird feeling of limbo that’s been settling between him and Cas where he knows they’re too close to something _more_ , no matter how many _buddys, pals_ and _mans_ he hurls around when addressing the guy. Truth is, he has no fucking clue what to do with any of this or if he even wants to do anything at all. Plus, regardless of what he _does_ want, he sure as hell doesn’t need his kid brother anywhere near it.

Before he can spiral into a completely undeserved panic, a welcome distraction presents itself in the form of a little kiosk. Rows upon rows of tiny hula figurines jiggle on the ratty shelves, there’s dusty plastic ukuleles hanging on the wall behind the counter, as well as scattered fake license plates that proclaim _“I heart Hawai’i”_. It’s tacky in the most glorious way and if Dean had even a little less self-restraint he would probably buy half the shack’s item stock. As it is there’s only one thing he cannot resist: the almost offensively bright flower shirts hanging on a rack to his left. They come in all sorts of colors and Dean laughs in delight. It’s a no-brainer, really. He _has_ to get Cas one of those like he promised himself he would, and while he’s at it he might as well get matching ones for himself and Sam. Blue, green, and red. He can’t remember the last time anything brought him this much childish excitement. The elderly guy behind the counter tries to sell him a postcard with his purchase and Dean lets him throw one in as a little souvenir for his room. After all, who knows if he’ll ever make it this far away from home again. When he turns around, paper bag in hand, to head back to the others he’s in pretty high spirits again.

A moment later his mood almost amps up to ecstasy when he sees a group of women in grass skirts and generously revealing bikini tops gathering around a speaker they set up in the sand. He’s clearly not the only one who’s intrigued, judging by the audience that quickly forms around them, and when one of the girls turns around and smiles cheekily at him he doesn’t need to be asked twice to join the small gathering. While their outfits are definitely not trying to be modest, the dance routine itself is actually pretty far removed from the suggestive twerk-and-grind shows he’s used to but seeing as the majority of related experiences took place in strip clubs that’s not a surprise. He finds himself enjoying the show for the flowing movements and the joyful music rather than the scantily clad women in front of him. It’s over way too soon, after maybe three songs or so, and Dean is almost disappointed. After a little encore that definitely eases some of that disappointment, the girls start handing out flyers for their performance later that night. Which just so happens to be at the party that their stake-out is going to happen at. Dean takes this as the perfect opportunity it is to get some inside contacts. It’s the girl that lured him over in the first place who comes up to him with a flyer and one of the spare flower garlands she pulled out of a box. She has to tiptoe to put it around his neck and Dean makes sure to send her what he _knows_ is a disarming smile.

Her cheeks flush pink. “If you enjoyed the show, I hope to see you tonight.”

“Wouldn’t wanna miss it,” he tells her and it’s really only half of a lie.

“Are you enjoying your stay on the island so far?”

He makes sure to give her an obvious once-over, adding a wink for good measure. “Sure am.”

The girl giggles in a way that’s just fake enough to make him aware they’re both playing each other. He’s flirting to make a contact for tonight, she is playing the ditzy dancer to get him hooked on their show. She puts her hand on his bicep and squeezes, giving him a run for his own performance, not that he’s complaining. “If you need someone to show you around…”

And that’s really all the opening he needs. “Well, actually. I do have a couple of questions.”

He brings the girl- _Alicia_ \- back to the Hula Hut for some snacks but their conversation actually loses a lot of it’s flirtation by the time they sit at one of the small tables. It urns out the two of them just get along great, she’s funny and kinda quirky sometimes and above all extremely easy to talk to. She tells him a lot about the island’s history, openly sharing the stories and folklore she grew up with. Especially the lore about Pele piques his interest. Apparently Alicia’s grandmother used to be one of the oldest people on the island before she passed away some years ago. She smiles as she tells him that but her eyes still tear up a bit. All he has to give her to dry them is his napkin which she for some reason finds hilarious, slapping his arm playfully. It’s contagious and soon they’re both wheezing in their ratty chairs. By the time they finish their food he’s not sure he’s learned much as far as their case is concerned but he definitely got a better grasp on the cultural basis they’re dealing with here. For what it’s worth, the fact that anyone approved a commercial area to be developed smack in the middle of a nature reserve is a tragedy in itself. Alicia agrees, expressing her wish to boycott tonight’s performance but _girl’s gotta pay her bills_. They part with a friendly hug and she stretches up to drop a quick kiss to his cheek as a thank you for the meal.

“Maybe we can grab a beer after the show?” she offers but it’s not a question that requires a committed answer when she turns and makes her way back down along the beach.

**. . .**

Sam and Cas have disappeared from their chairs so Dean heads back to the hotel in the hopes of finding them there. He’s excited to share what he’s learned but he also cannot _wait_ to get all three of them into their matching shirts. His excitement dissipates when he steps inside their room to find Sam and Cas turn to look at him as if he’s walked in on something he shouldn’t have. While Cas looks kind of defeated, Sam is _pissed_. Almost fuming. Dean briefly considers doing a one-eighty and walking back out but he can’t think of anything that he’s done wrong. If anything he did _good_ in getting them some intel.

Ultimately he decides to ignore the vibe in the room in favor of tossing the paper bag he’s carrying at the other two. “Got you somethin’,” he drawls happily. For a moment, Cas’ face lights up as he reaches for the bag, always a sucker for a gift, but Sam stops him mid-movement.

“I can’t believe you, Dean.”

“Somebody wanna tell me what’s got your panties in a twist?” Dean looks between his brother and the former angel. At his words Cas’ expression hardens and he gets up from where he’s sitting on Sam’s side of the bed.

“I’ll go for a walk,” he says. He throws the door shut way harder than he needs to as he leaves the room, making Dean flinch.

“What the hell?” he asks incredulously.

“You’re an asshole,” Sam mutters, still staring daggers at him.

“You know what, I’m not gonna disagree right away but can you at least let me know what I did to deserve that label today?”

“Your friend? At the bar?”

Dean frowns. “Alicia?”

“Oh so she has a name.”

“Yeah of course she has a-” Dean cuts himself off, exhaling his frustration. “We made a connection, talked about some stuff. Just cut the crap, Sam, come on. Spill.”

“Well, your ‘connection’ really fucking hurt Cas’ feelings.” Sam crosses his arms. “Especially after the way you took off.”

Dean wrecks his brain trying to make sense of that information. Why would _any_ of that piss Cas of all people off enough to break through his stoic demeanor, and to a point that had him slamming doors, no less? They’ve tried to kill each other, on more occasions than he’d like to admit. But a conversation with someone over some onion rings, _that’s_ what did it?

“Okay, you can’t tell me you’re really that dense,” Sam interrupts his train of thought. “I mean, it’s _you_ but still.”

He just shrugs helplessly, causing a bitch face of epic proportions to grace his brother’s stupid face.

“Dean. Believe me when I tell you that I have no interest in actually being involved in this emotionally constipated extravaganza you’ve got going between the two of you. But Cas is my friend and I'm asking you to just think for five seconds before you go all hot and cold on the guy."  
  
"What?"  
  
" _Dean_ ," he says the name like it causes him physical pain. "I can't believe you're making me spell this out for you. You went from acting like a disgusting married couple to parading a girl in front of him. Do you really not see what's the issue here?"  
  
"Is Cas fucking jealous?!" The words are out before he can stop them as soon as everything finally clicks into place. Instead of an answer Sam just stares at him like he's a lost cause if it really took him this long to come to the correct conclusion. Dean is inclined to agree. "Dude, I wasn't- I wasn't _parading some chick around_. She's gonna perform at the thing tonight and I figured we could use a contact. She also told me a whole bunch of shit that might be helpful."  
  
"Dean no offense but that's really not what it looked like." Sam not so subtly looks at the flower garland that’s still hanging loosely around his neck.  
  
"But that's all it _was_." he makes an exasperated gesture, pretending he’s not blushing profusely. "Why am I even talking to _you_ about this?"  
  
Sam rolls his eyes. " _B_ _ecause_ Cas is just as much of a dumbass as you are and was gonna let this slide, like he let's _everything_ slide, because sometimes you give him the bare minimum of attention."  
  
"Okay, first of all it freaks me out that apparently you and Cas are talking about me behind my back-"  
  
"If you two could just talk to _each other_ for a change that's an easy fix."  
  
“You know what, fine.”  
  
" _F_ _ine?_ "  
  
"Yeah, I'll talk to Cas."  
  
That's as much information as his brother is going to get and by the looks of it he's grateful for that. Dean for his part feels strangely humiliated. Not necessarily from the way Sam chewed him out but from the fact that he does have to agree that the way he's been acting around Cas has definitely been hot and cold. Today it may not have been intentional but other times he has no excuse for. Commitment phobia aside, it's been a long damn time since he looked at anyone other than Cas. Hell, a couple of hours earlier he was all but drooling over the guy. He just kind of assumed Cas _knew_. Clearly that had been wishful thinking so he could avoid a conversation about it. And now Cas is hurt because he's a fucking coward so yeah, he is going to set this straight although he's not sure what outcome to expect from it.

  
  
When Cas comes back half an hour or so later, the immediate outcome is that Dean _panics_. He knows it must look comical, the way he stops in the middle of the room and just stares at Cas, breaking out into a cold sweat as he does. It’s _terrifying_ but no one actually pays him any attention when Cas throws a pamphlet onto the bed.  
  
"There were plans for a bird sanctuary before the new construction was approved. I found this," he motions vaguely at the pamphlet, "at the reception desk. There might not be any connection but it's the closest thing we have to a lead."  
  
It's actually the missing puzzle piece they've needed and whatever issues Dean and Cas might have been having are put on the back burner in favor of doing some digging - or rather looking over Sam's shoulder while he does the digging.  
  
It doesn't take long for Sam to find a blog by someone calling themselves _PelesWrath666_ \- it's not exactly subtle. They talk a lot about their childhood and how they grew up in the area of the nature reserve, bird-watching with their dad who tragically died of cancer not long before the plans for the sanctuary were dropped. Apparently there's a whole bunch of endangered species fluttering about there, but protecting them became a lot less important once a big corporation started throwing money around. The blog is filled with enraged rambling, cursing the company, the CEO, the architects involved, basically everyone out of the pool of recent victims.

It’s pretty safe to say they have found whoever commands Pele. Now they just have to find them at the party before more people die via volcanic sacrifice. Only they still have no idea who they’re looking for. From the language used in the blog posts, Sam deduces it’s a woman, maybe around her early twenties. Dean looks at him like he’s grown a second head. Sam’s explanation of having watched a lot more true crime shows lately earns him a laugh. His brother is a _nerd_ but as long as it’s helpful Dean will keep the snark to himself. There will be ample opportunities in the future. Especially now that he has to come up with payback for the incredibly awkward emotional ambush he’s had to live through earlier.

**. . .**

Despite several opportunities, he hasn’t actually exchanged a single word with Cas by the time they arrive at the party. It’s not for lack of trying but it’s like all the resentment that Cas has accumulated over time is now being put to good use. Dean _hates_ it. From the way Cas keeps an unprecedented amount of distance between them to the fact that he won’t even look him in the eye. It’s torture, plain and simple. But it’s also no one’s fault but his own. He realizes now how natural it has been this entire time to have their little moments and secret touches. Now that they’re off the table, Dean’s skin prickles with the lack of contact. On top of it all it makes him feel incredibly stupid for having freaked out earlier because this? This is way worse. He _needs_ to explain things to Cas, let him know that he has nothing to worry about because even though they’ve never talked about what they are to each other, and even though there’s no label that’s big enough to encompass all of their history, Dean is fucking head over heels for him. He’s not sure he’ll be able to eloquently put this into an apology once Cas does decide to show some mercy but Dean is definitely prepared to grovel.

Around them the event is starting up. There’s a whole bunch of people running around in suits despite the heat, explaining the project as digital models play on a loop on several large screens that are set up in the area but definitely weren’t there the night before. Neither were the torches that are burning along the walkway, reaching slightly above eye-level. The sun hasn’t quite set yet but the fire still paints dancing shadows wherever it reaches. It would have been cool if they weren’t waiting for a literal volcano goddess to crash this party. Now it just gives the space an eerie feel.

For an hour or so nothing happens. That is to say, a lot of things _happen_ \- speeches are made, sponsors are thanked, the whole shebang- but none of it is noteworthy. Until it’s time for the actual groundbreaking part of the festivities. A guy steps up to the microphone, once more thanking everyone for their attendance before he is handed a pristine spade that probably comes straight from the closest Home Depot. He ceremoniously holds it up while the press snaps some pictures, looking way too proud of himself for a guy that’s celebrating not ten feet from where one of his employees got turned to ash less than a day ago. He is just about to dig into the ground when a group of people breaks loose from the crowd. They storm the area where the guy is standing, chanting environmental messages in clear protest against the corporate plans of what is to happen to the land. Security quickly subdues the dozen or so protesters who look to be in their teens or early twenties at most, collecting them together and shooing them out of sight from the predatory camera lenses. When it becomes clear that the stunt was enough to at least put a temporary halt to the ceremony, Dean seizes the opportunity to step in. He flashes his badge to the head security guard, soon followed by Sam and Cas who until this point have stayed out of his hair, probably too busy gossiping with each other.

“I’m Agent Hope, these are my partners Agents Livgren and Williams,” he mutters. “We just wanna talk.” Just like every other time he says that phrase a couple of kids break away from the group and just book it. It would be frustrating if Dean were to actually work in law enforcement, as it is he just lets them go without comment, motioning to the security people to stand down.

It doesn’t take much to figure out who the leader of the pack is. While everyone else seems to shrink back from the big bad federal agents, one particular girl keeps her head held high. She looks a bit older than the others, though not by much. “Wanna explain this whole stunt to me?” he asks point-blank, willing to bet a generous amount of money that she is behind the internet blog.

The girl stubbornly holds his gaze but doesn’t answer him. “Okay fine, have it your way,” Dean continues. “Just saying, keepin’ your mouth shut makes you look extra suspicious. ‘Specially with all the disappearances lately. You don’t happen to have anything to do with those too?” He knows he’s laying it on thick right now and just so manages to stop himself before saying something stupid like _you know murder is a crime, right._ The routine, cheesy as it may be, seems to do the trick, especially with Cas glaring at her too. Actually Cas isn’t really glaring by his standards but to the average person it’s still intimidating if the visible rise in nervousness in the girl is any indication.

“Listen, we know about your blog, about Pele,” Sam cuts in. The girl’s eyes grow wide. “And we think you know what’s been happening to those people. I know losing a parent is hard, believe me I know, but some of the people who have died now, they were parents too.”

“No,” the girl whispers. “You’re lying. You’re just saying this to get in my head.” She looks up with cold fury in her eyes.

“It’s the truth,” Sam continues calmly, his nervousness only betrayed by the way his eyes dart between the girl and the crowd of people that’s uncomfortably close by.

“Even if it is, I can’t stop it now. I have offered my body to Pele, once she takes over I have no control.”

“There has to be a way,” Sam urges. “Come on, you don’t want to do this.”

The words fall on deaf ears. “Oh but I do.”

Before their very eyes the transformation begins and the three of them have just enough time to drag the girl beyond the tree line and out of sight from the press and other nosy onlookers. It’s a good thing too because her skin starts to glow red and grows burning hot, enough so to scorch the leaves of the thicket as she is pushed through. Cas draws his trusty angel blade from inside his suit jacket at the same moment that Dean cocks his gun, already preparing for a fight. They don’t plan on killing the girl, but if it comes to deciding between saving either her or however many blissfully unaware party guests, the choice is pretty clear, as per the unending hunters’ trolley problem.

When the girl opens her mouth next it’s no longer her voice that flows from her lips. “I was called to shape the sacred land.”

Sam has not drawn any weapon of his own, clearly showing way too much trust in his own negotiation skills. “Pele! I, uh, I beseech you to stop.”

Unsurprisingly it doesn’t work. “I take no orders from you, mortal. I was asleep for eons, content with what I have created, only to be awoken now and find my creation mocked by man. Ruined with your machines. The soil is crying with what you’ve done to her. If you have shown no mercy to this land, what reason do I have to show mercy to you?”

It’s enough of a threat for Dean to shoot. The bullet lodges itself into her shoulder, right on target, but Pele remains unimpressed. She counters by swiping a glowing hand through the air, sending Dean and also Cas next to him flying through the air in a flurry of sparks. Thankfully, Dean only ends up halfway stuck in a bush but Cas isn’t as lucky. His body connects with a tree, knocking him out among the burning embers of Pele’s rage. It all happens within only a few seconds but the moment Dean witnesses Cas’ body go limp, time stops. He doesn’t see Pele making her way back to the party, or Sam smartly grabbing the angel blade from where it dropped from Cas’ hand as he follows her. All Dean sees is Cas. In an instant he’s on his knees next to him, ignoring the way the remaining sparks burn holes into his slacks. He grabs the former angel, winces at how much heavier he is without any life in him, and gently cradles him to his chest. He’s breathing so that’s a good sign. There’s also no visible injuries as of now but he took a pretty bad hit meaning there could still be internal damage. It’s not the first time he’s gotten hurt on a hunt. Especially the beginning of his arguable downgrade to humanity comes to mind, when he was still getting used to not having his mojo to get him out of a sticky situation. Over time Cas has grown much more careful and skilled in his human approach to hunting but that doesn’t make it any better when things like this happen. Dean just holds him that much closer, burying his nose in Cas’ hair in a shameless effort to calm his own nerves.

“You’re gonna wake up, you hear me,” he tells the still unconscious body in his arms. “I know you’re not done being mad at me but you gotta wake up so you can give me hell for not appreciating you. Although, you have to admit it’s on you too. If I'd known you felt that way I’d have gotten my head outta my ass way sooner.”

If anyone asks in the future, Dean will happily tell them that Cas chose this moment to wake up for the sole purpose of calling Dean out on his bullshit. In reality all he says once he begins to stir against Dean’s neck is “I’m okay”.

For a moment, Dean just holds him closer. “Yeah, you are.”

They pull apart less because either of them wants to and more because there’s definitely screaming going on at the party, and not the kind that indicates a good time. It hits him that Sam is out there facing off against a freaking volcano goddess without back-up. Dean gets on his feet, dragging Cas with him. “You good to do this?”

Cas, the idiot, rolls his eyes in annoyance despite having been unconscious up until like three minutes ago. “I’m _fine_.” And alright, that level of attitude is really all the reassurance Dean needs.

The scene that presents itself at the party is not a pretty one. There’s small fires everywhere, some from torches that have fallen over, others probably courtesy of Pele herself. The goddess in question is perched maybe halfway up the incline of the volcano she herself created, roaring down at the terrified crowd. As far as Dean can tell at first glance, there’s no casualties so far, which is great. He also spots Sam at the foot of the volcano, trying and failing to get closer to her as she keeps throwing dangerously glowing rocks down at him.

Just when Dean decides to step in guns a-blazing someone grabs the mic that lays forgotten in the dirt and Dean can’t quite suppress his surprise when he recognizes who it is. “Madame Pele,” Alicia calls out, her voice amplified by the handful of speakers that still work. The stunt definitely gets the deity’s attention. When Dean all but sprints over to grab the microphone, Alicia is quick to yank it out of his reach. “I have to try something,” she pleads. This isn’t really the time or place to put his life in the hands of a hula dancer, he thinks, but somewhere between the look in her eyes and the conversation they shared earlier in this day that seems to drag on forever he finds the trust to step back. As soon as he does she turns back to face Pele. Dean watches helplessly as she closes her eyes and starts to sing.

It’s a beautiful song, captivating from the very first note. The language is foreign to Dean but it flows off Alicia’s tongue like honey. Next to him he can tell Cas is equally captivated. Even Pele stops her screeching and tilts her head in curiosity. One by one more voices join in as people find courage in each other and what seems to be a familiar song. It’s fascinating. Slowly Pele loses her fiery glow as she begins her descent. Sam raises the angel blade when she comes near him but she pays him no attention, just floats toward Alicia. When she reaches her, both Dean and Cas are back on edge, ready to step in, but again Pele doesn’t appear hostile. She just sways to the music, barely a foot away from the woman serenading her. It’s an oddly intimate scene to witness. Pele’s glow fades more and more as she shrinks back into the human form of her vessel.

When the song ends, Pele is gone, leaving a crestfallen environmentalist standing forlornly in her place. She's clutching her bullet-torn shoulder but seems otherwise alright. It's in all honesty kind of anticlimactic but Dean will take that over a massacre any day.

The crowd erupts into cheers.

“How’d you know this would work?” Dean asks the first chance he gets, only barely containing his awe.

Alicia sends him a beaming smile. “My grandmother used to sing this song to me. Pele’s lullaby. She always said the music was powerful, I just thought she meant because, well, music is art. I feel like I understand much better now.”

“Well, color me impressed,” Dean tells her honestly. The compliment earns him another kiss on the cheek before the girl gets swept up by a mad flurry of reporters. She just single-handedly disarmed a freaking deity, she'll handle herself just fine in an interview.

It allows Dean to focus on more pressing matters. This time Cas’ reaction to the way the girl interacted with him isn’t lost on him. Cas’ shoulders are clearly tense and he is actively avoiding his eyes again, even while he’s still standing closer to him than the average person would. Dean grins. So this is jealous Cas. Good to know. He doesn’t torture the guy any further, just places a reassuring hand in the small of his back. There’s no time for a big speech right now, too much needs to still happen before this case is actually closed, but the gesture is a promise. Cas seems to understand, allowing himself to be guided by the touch as they head over toward Sam.

**. . .**

Despite Dean's best efforts over the past year Cas is still a lightweight. While Dean barely feels the buzz from his generously sized Long Island Ice Tea, Cas' Pina Colada has him swaying on his bar stool. They're sitting with their backs to the bar at the Hula Hut, watching the sunset paint the sky in a pinkish-orange hue. It's damn nice to have a quiet moment like this after a job well done. Especially after they spent all day tying up loose ends in correspondence with Kalanie who was infinitely amused by the fact that she called on the infamous Winchesters for help only for the day to be saved by a hula dancer. Dean has to agree that there’s a certain irony in that. On other good news, the disastrous outcome of the groundbreaking ceremony came with the consequence of most sponsors pulling out of the deal, leaving the project’s future uncertain. Some sources are already speaking of a possible return to the whole bird sanctuary idea now that there’s a volcano blocking feasible construction ground. Dean hopes there’s some truth in that, not lastly for the sake of the poor grieving girl that started this whole mess. Either way, it’s not his problem any more. He’s just here to enjoy the last night of his vacation.

In the distance someone is playing music from a speaker and he can hear people laughing but they're alone at this part of the beach and for some reason it feels like maybe it should make him nervous. It doesn't. He looks over at Cas, mirroring the soft smile he finds on his face and just allows himself to admire him while the guy is not looking. The last rays of sun reflect off his tan skin where the ridiculous flowery shirt he got him hangs open at his chest, making him glow in an entirely un-angelic but gorgeously human way. His eyes are glazed over with the alcohol in his system as he paints random patterns into the sand where his bare toes touch the ground and he looks so relaxed it easily takes a decade off him. And yeah maybe the Long Island Ice Tea is hitting him a bit harder than he thought because all he wants to do is reach out, almost unable to stand that there's any physical distance between them at all.

He doesn't pay attention to how long he's sitting there, openly staring, hand fidgeting absentmindedly with the hem of his matching shirt to keep it from doing anything impulsive. The sun reaches its lowest point on the horizon, quickly sinking into the calmly swaying ocean and taking the warm light with it, leaving them in a more subdued blue evening light and the neon sign of the bar somewhere above their heads. A soft breeze musses through Cas' hair and on instinct Dean's hand comes up to fix it but the other man beats him to it by running his own fingers through the messy strands in an innocent gesture that should not have made Dean's heart stumble over itself for a beat or two. Ultimately, the movement seems to shake Cas out of his alcohol induced stupor and he stretches his arms above his head with the laissez faire of a cat on a window sill. Dean forgets to find an excuse why he's staring at the way the movement makes Cas' abdominal muscles tense for just a moment. He's almost personally offended when Cas lazily pushes off the bar stool, surprisingly steady on his feet, and effectively ends the show.

  
"Sam is probably waiting for us," he says by means of an explanation and already starts to take off toward the path leading back to their hotel when Dean decides this is his now or never.

  
"Sam can wait for five fucking minutes." It almost comes out as a growl as he grabs a hold of Cas' wrist before it’s just out of reach and drags him back into their bubble. Cas spins halfway, almost tripping over his own feet and comes to a halt face to face with Dean. He's bracketed between Dean's knees, looking the inch or so down at him for a change and Dean can feel the way the guy's breath catches in his throat by the small pause it leaves when it would otherwise fan over his face. Cas smells like rum and sun screen and the traces of sea salt clinging to his hair and its intoxicating in a way no cocktail could ever dream of being. It's also the last nail in the coffin of Dean's self restraint. He lets go of Cas' wrist in favor of grabbing his still temptingly loose shirt on either side and yanking him in to close the gap between them. If the kiss is any surprise to Cas he overplays it like a champ, meeting Dean's lips with matched enthusiasm. One of his hands almost immediately comes up to Dean's chest, resting over his heart to steady them both. The gesture makes Dean smile into the kiss before pulling half an inch away to look at Cas' face. His eyes are closed but when he realizes Dean putting more than a hair of space between them they open to reveal an expression that's half dazed bliss and half irritation. The latter is enough of a silent demand for more that Dean dives right back in. Cas' lips are warm and still taste of the little umbrella drink he's had and Dean can't help but allow his tongue to sweep out and catch the very last remnants of sweetness that linger. He nothing short of cherishes the way Cas lets out the faintest gasps whenever they have to part for air, feeling reassured that he's in no way alone in his wish to never have this moment come to an end.  
When it inevitably does, he still doesn't allow Cas to step away, just gently cradles his jaw. His thumb catches on short stubble and he can't help but grin triumphantly at the way Cas' open affection seeps through the way he looks at him.

"Should've done that a lot sooner."

  
Cas just hums his agreement as his fingers trail the hard line of dean's collar bone, leaving him to shiver pleasantly.

  
  
It's a lot more than five minutes later when they finally stroll into the hotel room together. Sam looks up from the book he's reading and barely raises and eyebrow at their joined hands but the corner of his mouth curls into a smile. At some point he's sure to get a shameless interrogation, probably when he least expects it, but for the moment Dean is far too whipped to care. Sam has the decency to look away when he presses a quick kiss to Cas' lips before releasing him for a shower he only half seriously considers joining.  
When they're alone in the room his brother clears his throat, still pretending to be engrossed in his novel but now openly grinning. For a moment it seems like the interrogation might come sooner rather than later but all Sam says is "About time."  
  
Dean feels the back of his neck grow hot with the blush that's sure to spread but he takes it in stride, proudly dropping onto the pull-out couch with a grin that makes no secret of how damn happy he is. "Yeah yeah. Save yourself the I told you so."  
  
Sam, surprisingly, does refrain from any further comment. He says nothing when Cas purposefully steps out of the bathroom carrying his fresh change of clothes rather than wearing it, the potential innocence of the action undermined by the knowing smirk aimed at Dean that makes his mouth go dry.

Sam also says nothing when Cas climbs onto the couch with Dean once he does have the decency to put on a damn shirt. Dean can't decide if he's grateful or disappointed at the sudden lack of skin on display.

Lastly and most notably, Sam doesn't even complain when they maybe possibly get the tiniest bit carried away after what is supposed to be a quick kiss goodnight.  
  
To show his appreciation, Dean makes a mental note to get his saint of a brother the aisle seat on the flight back. And also a pair of earplugs for when they’re back at the bunker.

  
  
  
When he wakes up the next morning he expects to feel different, possibly even afraid now that the last traces of the adrenaline high and alcohol are out of his system, but he feels nothing of the sort. Cas is snoring softly on the pillow next to him, mouth hanging slightly open and it shouldn't be adorable because Cas used to be a warrior of heaven but now he's human like the rest of them and Dean feels his heart swell in his chest at the sight. Sam unceremoniously ends the moment of peace by tossing a pillow at his head and bitching at him to hurry it up with the googly eyes because they're running late for the airport.  
  


  
  
The only time a sense of panic threatens to overcome him after all is once the plane speeds up on the runway but this time Sam is enjoying his well-deserved leg room and Dean actually manages to hold it together just fine with his hand firmly in Cas' grasp.  
  
  



End file.
